


The Morning Routine of Phil Coulson, SHIELD Agent

by pan_ismyhomeboy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Annoying yet lovable Clint, Driveby Tony/Steve, Established Relationship, M/M, Mornings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 16:25:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/788074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pan_ismyhomeboy/pseuds/pan_ismyhomeboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson goes through the same morning ritual every day and it's a little annoying when Clint tries to worm his way into it. Coulson doesn't think he really minds, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Morning Routine of Phil Coulson, SHIELD Agent

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a prompt from the Avengers kinkmeme on LiveJournal waaay back in 2011, and is part of the fic migration from my LJ account to AO3. With the exception of a few quick edits for clarity, this work hasn't changed at all.

_0._  
  
Clint is absolutely not surprised when he finds out that Coulson is one of  _those people_ , and by those people he means someone who wakes up ungodly early just to stick it to the sunrise. Clint's always been an early bird himself if only to have first dibs on the bathroom's hot water, but when his earliest alarm goes off and he finds Coulson already showered, dressed, and calmly working in his office, Clint thinks he has every right to be a little baffled. "How long have you been up?"  
  
"Two hours," Coulson replies without glancing away from his desk.  
  
"Two - what's so important it has to be started at chicken o'clock in the morning?"  
  
This time Coulson does actually look up, expertly arching an eyebrow in a perfect mix of incredulity and scorn. Clint is starting to suspect that part of the answer to his question is 'practice making faces in the mirror to inflict on the team.'  
  
"Chicken o'clock. It means, you know, early enough that you hear the rooster start-"  
  
"Yes, I guessed that much. Would you mind? You're standing in my light."  
  
Clint shuffles out, rubbing the scruff on his face and mulling over new questions in his head.  
  
  
 _1._  
  
The next day, Clint surprises Coulson by perching on the kitchen table with a wide smile on his face. "Hey there! Wonderful weather we're having, isn't it?"  
  
Coulson stops dead in his tracks and stares at Clint. "It's still dark outside."  
  
Clint twists around and looks outside the window. "Well what do you know. Guess that's what happens when you're up before sunrise."  
  
"You're  _never_  up before the sun."  
  
"Color me curious."  
  
Coulson grunts, an indication that he's not going to do anything of the sort, and starts digging through the cabinets. When he closes the cabinet door with a container of coffee grounds in one hand, he discovers Clint sitting right next to him on the counter.  
  
"Hi!"  
  
Coulson blinks.  
  
Clint's grin just gets wider as he feels Coulson's hand slip around his. "You know, that caffeinated stuff's not good for you. You should try decaf, or maybe one of those herbal teas - ack!"  
  
The 'ack!' comes from Coulson grabbing Clint's fingers and sharply bending them back towards his wrist. "I am not going to be held responsible for the terrible things I do to you if you don't get out of the way of the coffeepot."  
  
Clint silently slides off the counter and steps far away as Coulson grabs the aforementioned machine and starts pouring in the water and coffee grounds. He makes a note in his mental diary to never, ever get between his boyfriend and his boyfriend's first cup of coffee in the morning.  
  
  
 _2._  
  
Try as he might, Clint just cannot persuade Coulson of the wonders of shower sex. He tries logic. ("Everything you need is right there. Plenty of lubricant. Structural support. Cleaning agents at the ready." "Yeah, no.")  
  
He tries pleading. ("Please, please,  _please_  have sex with me in the shower because if we don't have sex in the shower then Tony's going to win at who can have sex in more places, and if he wins he'll  _never_  stop gloating!" "Yeah, still no. Good try though.")  
  
He even tries all his masculine wiles. ("Just imagine me naked, spread eagled, muscles  _rippling_  under your touch." "Yeah, and how is that different that every other night of the week?" "...damn, you're good.")  
  
Ultimately he concedes defeat that, for whatever reason, shower sex is just out of the picture. So he decides to spy on his boyfriend instead. One morning, after Coulson's gotten up but before he's finished with his sacred coffee ritual, Clint slips into the communal showers, hides behind one of the curtains, and waits. And waits, and waits. When he finally hears the bathroom door open he peeks through the curtains... only to see a very enamored Tony pull in a very enamored Steve and start to drop clothes.  
  
" _They_  got to have shower sex," Clint tells Coulson an hour later, after he waited out the two lovers in the shower and tracked down his boyfriend.  
  
"Good for them," Coulson says, straightening his tie in front of the mirror. "And you found this out how?"

Clint tells him and he looks back at the other man, incredulous. Clint squirms and mutters something about wanting to surprise Coulson.

"You... know I have a private bath and shower, right?"  
  
"Why the hell do  _you_  get a private shower?"  
  
"Because," Coulson replies a bit smugly, turning back to the mirror to fuss over his freshly-washed hair. "I have to get  _some_  benefits from babysitting all of you."  
  
  
 _3._  
  
"No."  
  
"You can't say no."  
  
"Extra no."  
  
"Still can't do it."  
  
"I veto this action completely. Block, I say."  
  
"You can't veto something I do while  _you're_  in  _my_  room."  
  
A very distressed Clint looks at the very distressing stacks of paper that appeared after he woke up in Coulson's bed. "But... but I wanted to cuddle this morning."  
  
"We can do that too. Just don't mess up my work." When Clint pouts, Coulson shakes his head and says, "I thought you wanted to be part of my morning routine."  
  
"Not the boring parts." Clint lets both arms slip around Coulson's middle. Coulson pauses his writing long enough to let Clint get settled, then gets back to work.  
  
"I'm a boring person, Barton."  
  
"Yeah, but I love you anyway."  
  
There's a short pause, then a faint smile that doesn't leave Coulson's face until he's finished.  
  
  
 _4._  
  
Clint is walking to Coulson's office early one morning - if they can't have shower sex, maybe he can at least negotiate office makeouts - when he hears Coulson talking on the phone. And because Clint is Clint, he stops just short of the door so he can listen in.  
  
"...really sorry I won't be there for Thanksgiving. There's been a lot of work at the company, and I'll have to work overtime - mm? Yes, yes, I'll be there for Christmas. A whole week, if they'll let me have it." There's a longer pause as Clint peeks around the corner. Coulson's swivel chair is facing the opposite wall so he can look out the window and, more importantly, not see Clint.  
  
"Yes. There's... a someone. I don't know if it's a bring home for the holidays someone - uh, her name? Her name is... Kate. About three months, since the end of summer. Alright, I'll let her know. I love you too. Bye."  
  
When Coulson swivels back around, he's not entirely surprised to see Clint lounging there, feet up on the desk, starting to munch through a package of donuts that was Coulson's breakfast. "So Kate, huh? Anyone I should be jealous about?"  
  
"Shut up," Coulson says, reaching forward to snatch the package from his hands. "You know the rules about eavesdropping. And having boots on my desk. And stealing my donuts."  
  
"Sure do." Clint links powdered sugar from his fingers and grins. "So was that your other mistress, or jilted ex, or-"  
  
"My mother. I call her every morning."  
  
"...that's adorable. Did you know that you're adorable?"  
  
"What did I say about shutting up?" There's a beat and he says, "Sorry about - about the Kate thing. My mother, she's a good woman, she's just..."  
  
Clint puts up his hands. "S'okay, I get it. Probably couldn't get away with bringing you home, either."  
  
Coulson nods a little and straightens out his jacket. "You know I'll have to chase you out of here once I'm done with breakfast."  
  
"Oh, I know."  
  
And when he does a few minutes later, Clint pulls out his phone as he's walking down the hallway. "Hey, Mom, it's me. Oh, nothing. Just wanted to see how you were doing."  
  
  
 _5._  
  
A few days later, Clint wakes up and instinctively reaches out for a warm body to curl up against. He finds the bed beside him empty but still warm and cracks open an eye. The table lamp is on and Coulson sits on the edge of the bed, still in his sleep clothes, looking down at his lap. There's a tension to the other man's shoulders that keeps Clint from talking as he slowly sits up and places a hand on the other man's shoulder. When Coulson doesn't push him away, Clint scoots forward and looks around to the object in his boyfriend's hands.  
  
It's a photograph of a young girl with a bright smile, a small gap between her front teeth, dark hair down to her chin. She has Coulson's nose and eyes and Clint's first thought is that this is his daughter, only the photo is a little aged and fuzzy. Maybe a kid sister from years ago. Maybe still a daughter, but one Coulson had when he was much younger himself.  
  
Clint squeezes Coulson's shoulder and asks softly, "What's her name?"  
  
"Emily," Coulson says, voice kept carefully steady. "Her name was Emily."  
  
He doesn't move when Clint rests his chin on the opposite shoulder, or when his free hand comes down to hold Coulson's.  
  
"C'mon," Clint says after a long while. "Let's go get you some coffee. Almost time to start your day."  
  
Coulson tucks the photo back into its place in the nightstand drawer and lets Clint lead him to the kitchen.  
  
  
 _1._  
  
Some days Coulson does give himself the luxury of sleeping in an hour or two especially if it's the morning after a particularly stressful mission and no one's going to be up until at least noon anyway. It's a morning like this when he wakes up in Clint's room to find his boyfriend sitting up in bed, hair and face lit by sunlight filtering through the window. Clint is bent studiously over his bow, fingers lightly dancing across the frame, gently plucking at the string. There's a small scratch in the bow's top limb that makes Clint shake his head and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, "Fucking Loki."  
  
"I certainly hope you're not."  
  
Clint glances up from his bow, smiling. "Morning, sunshine. Wanna make yourself useful and pass over the wax in that drawer?"  
  
Coulson finds the stick of wax and passes it to Clint, who runs it along the string before working the wax in with his fingers. He's so absorbed in his work that he doesn't notice when Coulson gets up and returns with his own weapon. Coulson accidentally bumps Clint's arm as he's dissembling his gun and the other man looks over with a short laugh. "Copycat."  
  
"I always clean my gun in the morning," Coulson says with a faint smile of his own. "It's not my fault you saw a good idea and ran with it."  
  
They sit together, shoulder to shoulder, for several minutes, inspecting and caring for the weapons that keep safe themselves and the people they care about. After some time, Clint leans over and brushes lips against Coulson's cheek. "Thanks."  
  
"Oh? For what?" Coulson asks, pausing in his polishing.  
  
"For being the best part of my morning."  
  
Clint can't say anything else because Coulson's pulling him into a kiss. When they pull away, foreheads together, Coulson murmurs:

"You're my best part, too."


End file.
